


Keeping the Dawn Away

by TheMuchTooMerryMaiden



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Can something be fluff and angst at the same time?, Fluff, M/M, Soppy even, Very fluffy, kink meme fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2011-12-03
Packaged: 2017-10-26 20:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden/pseuds/TheMuchTooMerryMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secrets are shared on the night before John goes back to Afghanistan</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping the Dawn Away

The blanket had been over the back of the sofa as long as they’d had the flat, undisturbed and disregarded but nervous as he was John was feeling the cold that night and he dragged it round himself as he listened to Sherlock crashing around his room and around the kitchen. The light had faded from the room and John hadn’t been able to make himself get up and put on a light, so that the only illumination was the reflected glare from the orange sodium street lamps. Sherlock seemed now to be trying to beat something to death in the kitchen and while John tried hard to ignore him in the end he had to say something,

“Sherlock, are we going to talk about this?”

Sherlock was in the room like he’d been teleported, one hand rubbing through his hair staring at John belligerently,

“What’s to talk about? You’re not going to change your mind. I still think it’s a ridiculous idea, I still don’t want you to go.” Sherlock stood there his expression fixed into lines of disapproval and underneath that, lines of distress and unhappiness.

“I have to go, Sherlock, I’m needed. I can really make a difference. They need me, it’s only while we get the facility set up and it’s back from the front line”

“Not far enough back, you’re putting yourself in harm’s way,” Sherlock stated and John interrupted him,

“I can’t believe that of all the people who might say that to me you’re the one saying it. I’ve lost count of the number of times you’ve walked blithely into horrendous situations, bloody hell, Sherlock...” Sherlock broke in on him this time stating again,

“I don’t want you to go.” He stared down at John who stared back, meeting his flatmate’s intense gaze and then it struck him what was going on; for once it was John who had a moment of blinding realisation, How can I have missed this, he wondered, oh, God, and I’m going tomorrow and it’ll be months and he’ll be miserable, and so will I. Sherlock’s gaze narrowed,

“What were you thinking just then?” he demanded. John decided to trust to his instincts and his new understanding,

“I was thinking how much I’m going to miss you and how I didn’t want our last evening together for months to be like this.” John, ever alert to the nuances of Sherlock knew that what he’d said had knocked Sherlock sideways and with that confirmation of his sudden insight he continued, “Please, Sherlock, sit with me, hold me, don’t let’s either of us be on our own tonight.”

John had never known what was meant when someone was described as melting before. Sherlock slumped and had John not been able to see his face it would have looked like defeat or despair and indeed there were elements of that in his change of stance and expression but it was more, much more, there were realisation, hope and desire there as well. John lifted up the side of the blanket and gestured to Sherlock to join him.

Sherlock settled next to him, far closer than he would normally but still with a small distance between them as if he was unsure of his welcome, and John jerked the blanket up over Sherlock’s shoulders until they were both wrapped in it. John shifted slightly so that he was touching Sherlock shoulder to hips and almost in return Sherlock scrunched himself down to the same level as John.

“See,” John said, as they adjusted themselves, “that’s much better.” John was looking directly at Sherlock, seeing his strong profile watching a strange unreadable expression cross his flatmate’s face. Sherlock turned towards him, and suddenly John was aware of almost nothing except how close their lips were.

“Is it better?” Sherlock asked. John licked his lips and nodded,

“Yes, much, much better,” and then he leaned slightly to bridge the gap and kissed Sherlock. John could feel Sherlock’s momentary start of surprise before he relaxed into the kiss and parted his lips ever so slightly, not demanding, offering. John took him up on his offer and for a while there was nothing in the world but their lips and tongues. Eventually, they pulled apart very slightly and Sherlock spoke,

“Oh, John,” and then he just rested his head on John’s shoulder and John could feel shivers or possibly tremors ghosting through Sherlock’s body. John disentangled his left arm enough to hold Sherlock to him making soothing noises and murmuring disjointed words of comfort. Eventually Sherlock looked up and kissed him again, a deeper and more passionate kiss, a kiss where Sherlock’s left hand moved down to rest on John’s waist and pull him in tighter to their shared embrace. It was John who eventually broke out of this kiss, there were so many things he wanted to say and at least for now they had so little time.

“Oh, God, Sherlock, I wish I’d known how you felt before this. We’ve wasted a lot of time.” Sherlock sighed, tucking himself even tighter up to John’s side before he replied.

“I wish I’d known how I felt. You know me,” and here John could hear the grin in Sherlock’s tone of voice, “I’m not one to beat around the bush, if I’d known what I wanted I would have acted on it. Do you want to...” John interrupted,

“I know what you’re going to suggest and part of me wants nothing more and another part of me thinks that about the only thing that could make tomorrow worse would be walking away from you after we’d been together. Can we...” John stumbled over his words, swallowed and then continued, “can we just stay as we are? Can we talk and kiss and just hold each other?” Sherlock kissed him again, a ghosting of lips across his own,

“Of course we can, we can do whatever you want,” and here he smiled again, “we can do other things when you’re safe back. There’s just one thing I want, promise me,” John interrupted him,

“I promise, Sherlock.”

“Good.” This time it was impossible to tell who initiated the kiss, perhaps they both moved at the same time.

Time passed. John’s arm had slipped down to rest on Sherlock’s hip while Sherlock’s hand was still locked on John’s waist. Their breathing had slowed to a shared rate and although neither knew it they were both thinking that they’d never felt so much like they were in the right place. Sherlock broke the silence,

“Tell me three things about yourself that no one knows, three things that only the two of us will ever know about you.”

“And you’ll do the same?”

“Yes.” John thought for a moment,

“OK. Number one: my first crush was on my teacher in the first year of junior school. At the time I just though I wanted to be like him, he was so kind and so gentle and that wasn’t anything I’d ever seen from a bloke, certainly not from the tossers my mother brought home. But looking back it really was a crush of monumental proportions.” John could feel Sherlock smile against the skin of his neck,

“I wish I’d know you then,” Sherlock sighed, “have you always been attracted to blokes?”

“No, not really. I’m attracted to particular people and it doesn’t really matter whether in the words of the great Emlyn Hughes whether it’s a ‘bird or a bloke’. What about you?”

“Oh, it’s much more clear cut for me,” Sherlock replied, “I’ve never really been that interested in women, the few times I have been interested in someone it’s always been a man. So the second thing,” he prompted.

“Number two: I broke the nose of one of my mother’s ‘admirers’ because he was going after Harry.”

“And no one knows?” Sherlock asked. John sensed that Sherlock wasn’t checking up on the ‘three things that no one else knows’ so much as he was surprised that John had managed to keep the thing quiet.

“No one knows, not mum, not Harry, I suppose the bloke does unless he finally managed to drink himself into oblivion.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“What happened?”

“Well,” John considered the best way to tell the story without it sounding too horrendous, “as you may have gathered my mother was a serial bad picker when it came to blokes. She couldn’t quite seem to manage on her own, so as soon as one walked out and left her high and dry she brought home the next. It seemed like each one was worse than the last.”

Sherlock interrupted John by kissing him gently and John knew that as much as anything the kiss was meant to express sympathy for his younger self and perhaps respect for his strength. John returned the kiss, deepening it until when their lips parted both men were breathing hard,

“Anyway, Mum and Brian had both got plastered and had started arguing. I was wide awake and I heard him slam out of mum’s room and blunder about the living room. I could tell he was heading towards Harry’s room and I knew what kind of mood he was in and I was just at an age where I was beginning to be aware of the sorts of things a man might do to a fifteen year old girl when he was in a drunken rage.

“By the time I was out of my room he was halfway up the stairs to Harry’s attic room. I did the only thing I could think of, I grabbed at his ankle and pulled. He fell and because he was drunk he didn’t catch himself and whacked his nose on one of the steps. I’ve never been so scared, not even when I was shot, as I was when he turned to come after me.” John shuddered and Sherlock tightened his grip on him. John leaned his head onto Sherlock’s in acknowledgement of the support and then continued,

“It wasn’t much of a fight, he was very drunk and I was pretty quick and one of his predecessors had taught me some boxing. I kept darting in and landing him very unscientific roundhouse punches, he only connected maybe once in every five attempts. In the end I got him near the door and opened it and shoved. I put the chain on and then opened the door and told him that if he came round again I’d tell all his mates at the pub that a twelve year old had beaten him in a fight. It was the last we saw of him.”

“Come here,” Sherlock said and kissed him again, “you were very brave.”

“Not really,” John grinned, “as usual with me I didn’t really think I just acted and then the adrenaline carried me through. I’m not always very bright. So what about you, fair exchange is no robbery and all that, tell me three things about you that no one knows.”

“But you haven’t finished yet,” Sherlock protested,

“I’ll finish when you’ve told me your three things, three real things Sherlock, three things that I can keep by me while I’m away, three things to keep me going when all I want is to be home with you.”

Sherlock didn’t reply straight away. Instead he took the time to kiss John even more thoroughly his hands straying into new territory until John murmured,

“Don’t, I won’t be able to stop if you do.”

“OK,” Sherlock said pulling away slightly before grabbing at John’s hand and holding it tight, “Three things that no one knows. Ok. When I was a very small child I wanted to be a cat.”

“Really?”

“Really. We had a number of outdoor cats, belonging to the estate rather than the family,” again John was struck by the difference in their lives but he didn’t draw attention to what he was thinking and Sherlock continued, “There was one particular ginger and white cat, beautiful, sleek and vicious. He just didn’t care what anyone thought, he did what he wanted, took what he wanted, slept when and where he wanted. It really seemed like the life to me.” John smiled,

“That’s really very cute.” Sherlock shifted so that he could see John’s face, trying to gauge his expression,

“Are you making fun of me?” John kissed him in reply and then answered in a more verbal way,

“No. No I’m not. I’m just picturing tiny you following the cat around, noting its habits and likes and dislikes, and comparing them to your own. How long did you spend at it.”

“A solid couple of weeks,” Sherlock smiled,

“So you always did have the ability to focus when something interested you?”

“Yes, when something really gets a hold of me, like you,” Sherlock replied kissing John gently on his forehead.

“I’m flattered,” John smiled,

“You should be!”

“So, what about your second thing,” John asked, his lips against Sherlock’s throat. There was a long stretch of time and Sherlock filled it with thought as the two of them kissed in a relaxed almost languid way.

“The second thing,” Sherlock interrupted himself by planting a closed mouthed kiss behind John’s ear, “is,” this time it was a sly nibble at John’s earlobe, “that,” more than a nibble at the junction of John’s neck and shoulder, “I love the way you smell, I always have.” Before John could say a word, Sherlock was kissing him in full earnest, a deep passionate kiss that largely stopped conscious thought for both of them for some time. When they came up for air, both panting like they’d run a race, John was the first to speak,

“That might be simultaneously the nicest and the weirdest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

“Probably!” agreed Sherlock with a grin.

“I’ve been really thick, haven’t I?” John asked, “Not noticing what we were both thinking and feeling. We’ve wasted so much time...”

“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Sherlock protested,

“Do what?”

“Say that you’re not bright. I was under the impression that it was actually quite difficult to become a doctor, that they only take people with exceptional educational records. So, thicky, exactly what did you get in the way of ‘A’ Levels?” John blushed, dark as the flat was, Sherlock could feel the blush, could feel John’s face warm up,

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” John asked,

“Yes it does, tell me.”

“Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Psychology and Maths,” John muttered,

“And at what grades?” John could hear the grin in Sherlock’s voice as he again muttered his answer,

“All As, happy now?”

“Radiant,” Sherlock chuckled, “so then, where do you get off always making out you’re thick?”

“Well, I am compared to you.” John heard Sherlock’s sudden intake of breath and felt him tense up slightly. He continued, “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock replied,

“’S not nothing though is it?” There was a long pause before Sherlock replied,

“I’m not clever John, I have tricks and smoke and mirrors but in the important things I make mistake after mistake. I dread to think where I’d be without you, I’m inclined to think I wouldn’t have survived, Jeff Hope would have got me for one.”

“Sherlock, don’t,” John said, his voice thickened with emotion, “please don’t. I killed to save you that night and it’s only got worse, now I’d die to save you. This is secret number three: I love you Sherlock.” Sherlock pulled away slightly and John could just make out an expression of irritation on the younger man’s face,

“Now, that’s not fair, that was going to be my third thing, I love you, John Watson,” and then they were lost in each other.

 

“You really should get some sleep, you know. You’ll be shattered,” Sherlock said,

“I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want tomorrow to come, I don’t want to leave you even for a little while. I feel like if we stay awake it will keep the dawn away.”

“It won’t. I don’t want to see the dawn come, perhaps we could sleep through the whole thing. I want us to sleep in each other’s arms.” There was a long, long pause before Sherlock murmured, “You won’t forget your promise, will you John.”

“No I won’t. I’ll come back to you, I promise.”


End file.
